


Boldly Go

by boonies



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 16:52:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3141758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boonies/pseuds/boonies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Changmin accidentally steals Yunho.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boldly Go

For her birthday, [shim-jung-love](http://tmblr.co/miFUmvwR8QZy7p_DCyvvO4Q) wanted a rewrite of How the Grinch Stole Christmas, and it’s been a while since I ruined a beloved childhood classic, so here’s Changmin stealing… Yunho.

 

*

 

When Yunho is six, the village elder clears his throat, squints at Yunho's bare feet, and says, "You."

 

"Me?" Yunho blinks.

 

"Brother, nooo," Yunho's mother wails dramatically and shakes her staff in protest, haloed by the raging bonfire, "he's too pretty to send to the mountains—"

 

"It's _because_ he's pretty," the elder nods piously and pats Yunho's fluffy little head and that's basically how Yunho gets sent away as tribute.

 

 

*

 

 

Every damn Christmas, a clusterfuck of nagging relatives descends upon the homestead.

 

Which is why every damn December, Changmin maniacally collects a shit-ton of fresh pelts and absconds to the mountains, shouting an unapologetic _yeah alright sorry_ _gotta dry 'em_ over his shoulder.

 

After all, fur trading's pretty lucrative and timing is important and listen, Changmin would honestly rather sit in some damp drafty cave, alone and miserable as is the true nature of man, than listen to one more _but_ _why aren't you married yet_ from a fat aunt stretching his cheeks into a grotesque smile, punctuated by a ceaseless round robin of _your sisters can't marry before you do think of your sisters you bastard_.

 

But here's the thing.

 

Changmin's not a fucking idiot.

 

Marriage is a deathtrap, and Changmin's watched his fair share of rabbits hop straight into snares and ultimately gnaw their legs off to escape.

 

Changmin can't lose a limb, won't lose a limb.

 

"...the fuck?" he scowls, dropping his haul to the ground.

 

His cave, unlike last year, is all fucked up.

 

Instead of makeshift drying racks, there's a long wooden table, low to the ground and overflowing with foodstuffs; dried meats coiling around fruits and nuts, breads topped with candies and jellies, sliced vegetables rounding smoked fish.

 

Stomach rumbling helplessly, Changmin lowers his fur hood in awe, breath misting.

 

It's stupid and dangerous but the scents—heavy salty sweet—are irresistible, so Changmin bends to attack the spread like a starved animal, sniffs at the soft glazed rolls, and shamelessly devours one, then two, then five, shedding his knives and packs to the frozen ground.

 

Deep in the dark depths of the cave, there's sudden rustling and a satisfied, whispered, "Oh, it likes them."

 

Changmin freezes, furry boots catching against some strange new straw mat.

 

Alert, he glances at his discarded knives, reaches out a slow steady hand, and—

 

"Oh, greatest mountain deity~" a weird old man chants boisterously, stepping out of the darkness, sparkly robes picking up dust by his flip-flopped feet, withered hands outstretched toward the jagged ceiling, "thank you for accepting our meager offerings anew."

 

Very meticulously, Changmin returns a half-eaten bread roll to the table, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

 

"May our oblation serve you well, merciful divine being," the man continues with a pleased hum, "I shall take my leave."

 

Changmin opens his mouth to grunt _yeah you do that_ , but the man bows low, ceiling-scraping staff rattling, and gestures behind him with a fervent smile and a proud, "I leave our most beautiful subject to a great deserving beast such as yourself."

 

Eyes dead, Changmin sighs, annoyed and rehearsing a very severe speech about trespassing and the very unpleasant consequences of trespassing, but the shadows lift and part and a man steps forward, tall and modestly dressed, fists clenched at his sides, dark shiny hair gathered in a loose ponytail at the top of his head, fringe half-obscuring his face.

 

Changmin's throat dries up.

 

"Enjoy," the old man says and skips out of the cave, crooning to himself.

 

Bewildered and oddly light-headed, Changmin snaps his head at the remaining intruder.

 

Prim, the man bows deeply, then straightens, meeting Changmin's eyes with a weird stubborn stare.

 

"I am Yunho," he says formally, soft and polite and overly calm, strange tiny hint of trepidation lacing his voice, "your centennial tribute."

 

 _My what_ , Changmin snorts, baffled, but then remembers he's bundled up in four fat layers of fur, covered head to toe like a yeti, blood-stained pelts by his feet and gear brimming with sharp tools, and none of this should be _this_ fucking hilarious but there's legitimately a dude stupid enough to offer himself as sacrifice to something as nonexistent as a goddamn mountain deity, _in this day and age_ —

 

"You may take me at your convenience."

 

The amusement dies instantly, replaced by a flustered, greedy thing.

 

"...take you where," Changmin mutters slowly.

 

"Oh, it speaks," Yunho mumbles under his breath, startled, then bravely faces Changmin once again, flushed and resolute, eyes slanted in a kind of challenge. "I am yours to do with as you please."

 

Changmin pauses.

  
Well.

 

 

*

 

 

There's something very wrong with the beast.

 

For twenty years, Yunho has studied how to appease the great northern fiend, taken proper etiquette lessons to placate its rage, sat through general betterment sessions to make for a more refined meal, mentally and physically prepared for his twelve days of impending unimaginable torture culminating with a drawn-out painful demise on Christmas Eve.

 

So if the beast could maybe hurry up and devour him on day one so the village could be safer, sooner—

 

"Hand me that thing," the beast says, bent over a portable workbench.

 

Automatically, Yunho hands it the thing and hesitantly folds himself opposite the bench, throwing mournful glances at the stack of elk hides beneath it, the ground dotted with a scattering of soft fuzzy cottontails. For a moment, a stray worry of being likewise tanned by the beast crosses his mind, but... the... village...

 

"Aren't you cold," the beast grunts, watching him out of the corner of its eye, knife scraping at a pelt, black mask pulled over its nose and mouth.

 

"My possible discomfort is irrelevant," Yunho recites dutifully but yes, he's very cold, and he can't exactly feel his feet anymore because his village is tucked deep into the always sunny side of the sprawling mountain range, where it never snows and where Christmas means warm dips in the sea shallows and the ever present heat of a crackling fire—

 

He sniffles.

 

Prickly, the beast slides a snag of rope across the workbench. "Unroll that."

 

With an obedient nod, Yunho works the knot loose, fingers numb, throat sore.

 

 

*

 

 

If the idiot dies of hypothermia, Changmin will have to haul his stupid carcass all the way down the mountain.

 

That's the only reason.

 

"Here," he tells Yunho and slides the finished pair of fur booties his way.

 

Looking like Changmin just handed him dripping entrails, Yunho gingerly inspects one boot, almost literal question marks flashing about his head.

 

"You... put them on," Changmin explains, annoyed, wondering if the village secretly sent their dumbest instead. "Your feet."

 

Frowning, Yunho steels his features, shoulders squared.

 

Frustrated, Changmin yanks his fur hood down and jerks his mask off, hair curling in a sweaty gross mess over his forehead, and enunciates, " _So you don't freeze to death_."

 

Startled, Yunho just stares at his face for a long, tension-filled moment, eyes adorably wide.

 

"...put them on," Changmin instructs.

 

Suddenly stoic, Yunho slips his hands to his lap, booties discarded.

 

"I understand this is meant to take twelve days," he says, resigned, tone turning informal, "but if you could maybe end it today and spare my village—"

 

Every trace of previous amusement fades.

 

Horrified, Changmin points his knife at Yunho's dumb face. "You really came here to die."

 

Yunho's brows knit in confusion. "Of course?"

 

"You'd die for your village," Changmin asks, awash with disbelief.

 

"Yes?"

 

Changmin rubs the bridge of his nose and manages an exasperated, "Leave."

 

 

*

 

 

The beast is a mess.

 

Unexpectedly, it's built him a fire and made him wear leg warmers and arm warmers and fur booties, only furthering Yunho's suspicions. It's told him to go home, repeatedly, so it's clear: Yunho is being tested.

 

But here's the thing.

 

Yunho is ready to die.

 

So the village can live peacefully for another hundred years, so all his uncles and aunties can keep tending its gardens, and so that many healthy babies can be born within its walls, Yunho is willing to trade. He's said his goodbyes and formed no lasting attachments. He's done.

 

But the beast is so fucking weird.

 

Feverish, Yunho struggles against the chill seeping into his bones, numbing his senses, hunkered by the beast's side like a sleepy sentinel, watching as each hide disappears under a smattering of salt, a majority of them strung up outside to cure and just... the beast's human form is deceptively harmless-looking?

 

It's a big fat blob of fur with a soft childlike face and wild unruly hair and long calloused fingers.

 

It's... fairly difficult to reconcile this avatar with the faded drawings he was forced to memorize as a child, all depicting intimidating eight-armed monstrosities with snakes for fingers and bellies as large as huts.

 

"There's leftover pelts from last year," the beast says and sounds distant and tinny, muffled by the incessant ringing in Yunho's frozen ears. "You can use them as a bed, I guess."

 

Yeah, Yunho would like to sleep, sweat the fever out, soak up at least the tiniest bit of warmth, just close his eyes and drift off, forever if necessary and possible, but, "Please do not prolong the rites." Throat and chest aflame, lips chapped, Yunho sways a little and anchors his palms to his knees and appeals earnestly, "Please accept me now and end it."

 

The beast turns to glare, unamused.

 

Flinching, Yunho readies himself.

 

And then a heavy smothering weight descends upon him.

 

 

*

 

So, okay, this is happening.

 

Changmin is actually tucking a man into bed.

 

He genuinely meant to wrestle Yunho into a stack of furs to get him to shut the fuck up and sleep and preferably not die but the idiot's not resisting or struggling and it's only making Changmin want to warm up some soup and cram it down Yunho's gullet.

 

"There's no such thing as deities," he tells Yunho with a patronizing grunt, layering furs atop Yunho's thin cotton robes. "Sleep it off and go home like a normal person."

 

Yunho squirms, protesting, hands slipping out of the fur blankets to desperately grip Changmin's wrists. "You'll spare the village."

 

"How fucking gullible can—" Changmin groans, shoving Yunho's cold hands back under the covers. "Yes. Yeah, fine. The village is ~spared."

 

Relieved, Yunho smiles.

 

Changmin's heart lurches sideways.

 

Disgusted, he angrily piles the heavy covers atop the guy and retreats to his workbench, ribs achy, mood crashing, because for fuck's sake, the sole reason he's up here, braving the elements and depriving himself of holiday food, is to get away from responsibilities and troublesome people so how the fuck did he get saddled with both.

 

He was temporarily blinded by the promise of accidentally stumbling into a source of free labor but this is ridiculous.

 

Bent on destruction, he focuses on his workbench and tacks up a few of the cottontails, thins the pelts while not at all listening to Yunho's soft steady breathing, then creeps back to the low table and helplessly raids the remaining feast.

 

"Ridiculous," he repeats to no one in particular, chewing, and sheds a couple of layers, then glumly crawls under the covers on the opposite side of the cave.

 

Openly hostile, he takes a moment to glare at the dishes he left untouched, reaffirming to himself he didn't eat them because he's just not a fan of... jerky, and not because Yunho's going to need sustenance, too.

 

 

*

 

 

Groggy and still feverish, Yunho shivers through his morning ablutions.

 

He stumbles back into the cave, stomach roiling, and sends a wistful glance at the dishes the beast overlooked.

 

But Yunho is strong, so he ignores the food and patiently folds himself by the beast's fluffy head, feet tucked under him, hands clasped in prayer atop his knees.

 

He squints open one eye, mid-prayer, and glances down.

 

...for a great magnificent beast who only emerges once every one hundred years, the beast sure does sleep a lot during its active phase. And apparently, it has a job. And it sweats. It sweats profusely, really, shiny around the nose and chin and forehead, tips of its unruly locks wet with it, framing its round delicate face.

 

"Touch me and die," the beasts growls in warning, voice thick with sleep.

 

Yunho's hand freezes an inch from cupping its jaw.

 

"I am prepared to die," Yunho confesses with a solemn nod.

 

Groaning like a volcano full of bears, the beast sits up, covers peeling off of its naked chest and sliding to its waist, revealing sharp hard angles and smooth pale skin and firm defined muscles and that is not what... the... manuals... the... things... what.

 

"Did you eat," the beast yawns, rubbing at its eyes.

 

Yunho watches its muscles flex, apprehensive.

 

If this is the human form, with its obvious capacity to thoroughly wreck Yunho, what will its true form—

 

"Eat and go home," the beast grumbles, radiating heat despite its sudden lack of fur.

 

"Why would I go—" Yunho blinks, confused, unable to stop staring.

 

The beast rises at full tilt, a little too fast, clad only in its thin undergarments, crotch rushing past Yunho's startled face, and stretches lazily above him, arms locking behind its head with a satisfying loud crack.

 

...yeah.

 

Yunho knows this is definitely part of his twelve-day trial, has been repeatedly told _sorry you gotta_ for at least the past ten years, but he... he really hoped the deity would be female, so the whole possibly having to pleasure it physically part would be less unpleasant.

 

Unfortunately, the beast is male and this is a clear invitation.

 

So, resigned, Yunho palms its crotch with a firm squeeze.

 

"WHAT THE FUCK," the beast yelps, launching off of the ground and shielding itself with a mortified, vulnerable glance.

 

Frowning, Yunho examines his hand.

 

Perhaps the beast's pleasure centers are located elsewh—

 

"NEVER," the beast snarls and shoves its face into Yunho's, dull human-like fangs bared, spittle flying, face flushed pink, eyes flashing, "NEVER DO THAT AGAIN."

 

"Then what _should_ I do," Yunho asks, perhaps a little too indignantly.

 

"FUCKING _LEAVE_."

 

 

*

 

It's fucked up.

 

It's so fucked up that someone like this exists.

 

That someone would actually climb a mountain and look for a monster to fuck and get killed by.

 

It's fucked up.

 

Right, except Changmin is painfully hard.

 

The cold is doing nothing to dissuade his body from wagging its figurative tail, pulse pounding to a sudden unfamiliar highly inappropriate _take him take him take him_ beat, and pacing restlessly in front of the cave half-naked is unforgivably unproductive, so Changmin slinks back in, immediately locking eyes with Yunho.

 

Yunho stares back, unflinching.

 

Stupidly awkward, Changmin discreetly covers his crotch.

 

"Okay," he says with a combative glower, swathing himself in furs, "for the last time, I'm not some kind of fucking mountain god. Gods don't exist. Go home."

 

Yunho sighs.

 

"You promised," he reminds, civil, "you'd spare my village, so if possible, please stop testing me."

 

Incredulous, Changmin crumples by his workbench.

 

 

*

 

On the second morning, Yunho wakes up starving.

 

No amount of meditation diminishes the hunger, so when he folds himself by the beast's sleeping head as per protocol, his stomach growls miserably.

 

"Eat," the beast mutters mildly, rolling to its side and turning its back to Yunho, shoulder blades bare.

 

Yunho shuts his eyes tighter, palms upturned, chin up, steadfastly channeling inner peace.

 

"Eat," the beast warns quietly, "or I'll destroy your village."

 

 

*

 

 

By the end of the day, they're out of food.

 

"Don't kill it!" Yunho pleads, plastered to Changmin's back like the clingiest of capes, fingers digging into Changmin's fur-padded shoulder.

 

The squirrel skitters away.

 

Exasperated, Changmin puffs a stray pine needle off his upper lip and lowers his knife. "How are we gonna eat it if I don't kill it."

 

"We can eat fruit," Yunho offers innocently, mouth red and wet, breath warm on the side of Changmin's face, moonlight reflecting off his hair.

 

The _we can_ part appeases Changmin some, so he unceremoniously shrugs Yunho off and whines, "You know it's December, right?"

 

Adamant, Yunho ducks his head and plonks down on a snow-topped tree stump, dusting flurries off his leg warmers. "There are... winter... pears, probably."

 

There are definitely winter pears but Changmin is a carnivore _and_ a grown-ass man—

 

Slowly, a squirrel approaches Yunho, bounding out of nowhere and sniffing at Yunho's fuzzy ankle before climbing into his lap, and then a bunny lopes over, tail twitching, and then a fucking baby elk is poking its head out of the snow-covered bushes to nuzzle at Yunho's ponytail, moon at his shoulders.

 

Speechless, Changmin can only glare.

 

*

 

"...you were chosen because you were _pretty_?" the beast challenges, taken aback, peeling a whole thing of winter pears, perched cross-legged by the mercifully barren hearth, because despite twenty years of culinary practice, Yunho's kind of a horrible chef—a hazard, really—and the beast is observant.

 

"Yes," Yunho admits, equal parts self-conscious and contrite.

 

The beast waits for a beat, then wonders aloud, "...and what if you grew up ugly."

 

"Are you saying I'm handsome," Yunho asks automatically, mouth disobeying his brain, but he's here to be accepted by a thing prophesied to end him and so maybe shutting his brain off is a prerequisite.

 

"...you're... not... ugly," the beast concedes grudgingly, cheeks dark, "but fit for a deity..."

 

Instead of feeling offended, Yunho chuckles.

 

"I am well aware of my flaws," he laughs self-deprecatingly, worrying at a pear, and the beast turns to scrutinize him.

 

Uncomfortable, Yunho grows restless under its gaze as its mismatched eyes darken, pupils blown wide by firelight.

 

"So," the beast starts coolly, dangerously, "your village would let you die."

 

"I," Yunho corrects, "would die for my village."

 

The beast stabs at a pear, dark aura settling about its shoulders. "How old are you."

 

"Twenty-six," Yunho offers easily, adding a dumb automatic, "how old are you."

 

"Twenty-four," the beast replies just as naturally but surely it means twenty-four hundred, right.

 

There's a long, unnerving silence, and then the beast warily throws a perfectly peeled pear at Yunho's head.

 

"Not that I care," it defends, cranky, "but won't your family miss you if you die."

 

Yunho pauses.

 

"Is there no one you would die for," he asks softly, curiously, way exceeding his liberties.

 

Nose wrinkled, the beast recoils. "Fuck no."

 

"Mm," Yunho agrees, ache spreading, "it must be different for someone like you."

 

 

*

 

On the third morning, it's routine.

 

By the time Changmin cracks open one eye, Yunho's already lit several oil lamps, added tinder to the hearth, and laid out a bowl of savagely-peeled fruit by Changmin's head, half of its flesh cut off with the skin.

 

"I understand rest befits a divinity," Yunho chides, "but perhaps you would be more productive if you slept less."

 

Groaning loudly, Changmin fights his way out of the covers, sticky, tired, infringed upon, and kicks his feet at the mess his cave has become. "FUCKING CLEAN THIS UP."

 

Yunho levels him with a contemplative look. "No."

 

Changmin narrows his eyes. "Clean."

 

"Please end me instead," Yunho offers cheerfully.

 

Changmin almost does, but he's not gonna give the bastard's village the satisfaction.

 

"Am I actually supposed to kill you today?" he asks instead, twitching at the peels littering his workbench.

 

"Well," Yunho thinks, bangs bouncing as he speaks, lips smacking, "I was prepared for at least the torture to begin by now, but surprisingly, there's been considerably less suffering than expected."

 

Not for Changmin.

  
Disheveled, he draws his knees up and buries his head in his hands, the definition of frustrated impotence.

 

It's too much. Yunho's too much. Changmin came here to be alone, to enjoy quality Changmin-time, for the peace and the quiet, not the incessant, unsolicited, endless babble about every person Yunho's ever spoken to, and Changmin's half-tempted to maybe just nudge him off the mountain and fulfill—

 

Cool hands tangle in his hair.

 

"There's a knot," Yunho says helpfully and runs his fingers through Changmin's sweat-damp hair, gently working at a snag.

 

Changmin burns up.

 

Mortified, he rides out the sudden shameful wave of arousal, swiftly talks himself down, because he's young and healthy and this is fine, it's okay, his body's just mistaken, dumb, hormonal.

 

Yunho tugs, gingerly brushing through Changmin's hair, above his ears, over his sweaty forehead, down his flushed cheeks, cupping his face and—tugging sharply, tilting Changmin's head roughly down, twisting his hair to the side, combing through the curls with violent momentum.

 

"Ow—fuck—what," Changmin snaps, fending Yunho off and ducking his crazy hands.

 

"Looking for the horns," Yunho explains, confused. "Your human form is... odd."

 

Burning with rage, Changmin shoves him off, but he can't think of anything coherent to scream, so he spends half the day obsessively tidying up the cave instead.

 

 

*

 

The beast is _adorable_.

 

Yunho's perfectly aware this is merely an illusion, a compulsory test he must pass, the last circle of trials before his downfall, and he understands this is the creature that will ultimately take his life, among other things, but... it seems to need... protection and care. And a bath.

 

It really needs a bath.

 

Yunho needs a bath, too.

 

His whole itinerary mostly included being dead so he never really considered essentials such as staying clean, but now he physically can't stop fantasizing about stripping these thick heavy furs off and wading into the welcoming warmth of the sea, soaking in rivers and lakes and—

 

"Where's my paring knife," the beast asks, rampaging through the cave.

 

"What."

 

"My paring knife," the beast repeats, displeased. "Where did you put it."

 

Instead of fear or the need to mollify the beast, there's only a profoundly weird kind of irritation stockpiling within Yunho. "Did you check under the workbench."

 

"No," the beast drawls sarcastically and flips the workbench with the tip of its boot, sending it crashing against the cave wall. "What workbench."

 

"Well," Yunho says, keeping his composure. "Maybe if you kept things in their proper places..."

 

With obvious contempt, the beast snarls, "I'M not the one who keeps MOVING THINGS—"

 

Yunho ignores it in favor of folding a deformed crane out of torn parchment, wondering if perhaps the beast only emerges once every century because it is so unlikable.

 

"DON'T IGNORE ME," the beast roars, "I—oh, there it is," it says, bending to pick up its missing knife.

 

Wedged under the flipped workbench.

 

"So," Yunho starts innocently, "it was—"

 

" _Go. Home_."

 

 

*

 

Yunho won't shut up about baths.

 

All through lunch, it's a relentless string of _a tribute must always be presentable_ and actual literal pouts, from a grown man.

 

So Changmin eventually loses his shit and says, "Fine, there's a stream down that way," and Yunho joyfully follows him out, practically skipping along, booties sinking into the snow, only to freeze in disappointment at the sight of it.

 

"It's frozen," he says, face falling.

 

"DECEMBER," Changmin barks, then takes a deep calming breath. "So can we go back now."

 

Yunho frowns.

 

Face set into a stubborn scowl, he crouches by the frozen rapids, snatches a snow-covered rock, brushes the flakes off, and strikes at the ice. A sharp crack loosens the sheet and soon, Yunho's picking at pieces until the hole is sizable enough for a chain reaction of shattered ice and then water is gushing and filling the stream and—

 

Yunho toes off his boots.

 

"Wait, what, you can't—you can't go _in_ ," Changmin grabs at the air, concern overriding apathy, which is gross and disconcerting and pointless, because the weak should be culled from the herd and clearly, Yunho needs to— "STOP."

 

But stubbornly, Yunho reaches up and undoes his ponytail, hair falling to just above his collarbones, and then the furs are gone, and the robes are parting to reveal a fading deep tan, all the way down to his hipbones, and okay, yeah, he's absolutely a present no divine being would readily reject.

 

Luckily, Changmin is mortal and not affected by men and so the sight of Yunho's tight ass and thick thighs doesn't make Changmin's knees go weak.

 

It's just the steep slope of the stream, fucking with his balance.

 

"Okay," Yunho says, hesitating, bites his bottom lip in contemplation, then just _walks into the frozen stream_ and submerges himself, dipping down to wet his hair, frantically scrubbing everywhere, skin pinking up, face set in a determined beautiful mess.

 

Changmin watches him, mesmerized.

 

By Yunho's sheer stupidity.

 

 

*

 

 

"You're gonna die," the beast eulogizes, warming a bowl of water by the fire.

 

"That's the plan," Yunho grins, almost affectionately, but his teeth are chattering and his bones are essentially ice so he huddles deeper into the furs draped over his shoulders, headache intensifying.

 

The beast clenches its jaw.

 

"So was that a suicide attempt," it asks suspiciously.

 

"What," Yunho blinks. "That was... I like being clean?"

 

"WE COULD'VE JUST WARMED SOME WATER HERE."

 

Uncomprehending, Yunho glances at the bowl of water bubbling on the hearth.

 

"You take a cloth," the beast rambles, demonstrating like Yunho's never heard of sponge baths before, "and you dip it in water and you clean yourself, what century is your village _FROM_."

 

Troubled, Yunho focuses on the cloth. "Should I... do that for you."

 

The beast pauses adorably.

 

"...what."

 

"Should I wash you with the cloth."

 

The beast turns a strange, unhealthy color, its pale face graying. "What."

 

"I noticed you haven't bathed..." Yunho begins tactfully, then abandons diplomacy and offers, "I've been instructed on how to perform proper cleansing rituals. Extensively."

 

The beast stands frozen, washrag clutched in one white-knuckled hand.

 

"...okay," it says at last, barely audible.

 

Still shivering from the ice now permanently circulating in his veins, Yunho throws off the furs and starts for the fire with intent.

  
"Clothes!" the beast prompts, eyes wild. "Put on some clothes first. Clothes."

 

With a dutiful smile, Yunho slips into his last set of clean white robes, meant for his last rites, then trudges back and gently nudges the beast to sit closer to the fire.

 

Tentatively, with the air of a well-trained expert, Yunho dips the discarded cloth into the bowl, wrings it out, and runs it down the beast's cheek first, scrubbing hard.

 

"Ow."

 

Lips twitching, Yunho unlaces the beast's fuzzy hood with his free hand, and divests it of its impressive layers of fur, save for the underwear. The wind outside howls briefly and Yunho shudders as the fire flickers, kneeling in front of the beast.

 

He palms one bony knee and trails the rag down its muscled chest.

 

Its hair curls over its hooded eyes, and Yunho shifts his weight to one leg, uneasy.

 

"Aren't you gonna ask my name," the beast murmurs softly, hands clenched by its sides.

 

"I know your name," Yunho points out, returning the washcloth to the bowl.

 

The beast locks its gaze on Yunho, curious.

 

"Brute the Obstructor, the First of Its Name—" Yunho begins, because he's memorized the first one hundred known names and is pretty convinced he can bullshit his way through the other nine-hundred-and-eight, washcloth unwaveringly wiping grime off a hard hot sternum, "Guardian of Winter—"

 

"Changmin," the beast says quietly. "It's Changmin."

 

Yunho pauses mid-swipe, fingers brushing warm skin.

 

"What," the beast begins apprehensively, aiming a pair of sad puppy eyes at Yunho, "is it that I do to your village every one hundred years."

 

Yunho's heart kicks in his chest.

 

Detaching emotionally, Yunho touches his fingers to the beast's bony wrist and brings its arm up, corded muscles jutting out, beads of water trailing down from Yunho's clenched fist over the beast's warm forearm. "Death and destruction, basically."

 

The beast shifts.

 

"What," it asks again, "would you do if you didn't have to be tribute."

 

Yunho's head snaps up.

 

"You _promised_ —" he accuses, panic rising.

 

"Yes, yes," the beast sighs dramatically, proffering its other arm, the inside of its wrist turned up, "I'm sparing your stupid village, you still get to die, just answer me."

 

Absentmindedly, Yunho runs the washrag up to the beast's elbow and pauses, inappropriately positioned.

 

"I'd..." he starts but he's never really afforded himself the luxury of going down that path, even hypothetically. "Get married and have a lot of kids?"

 

The beast scowls nastily, unimpressed.

 

"Maybe become village leader," Yunho continues, gaining strength, mind in overdrive—uselessly— "expand our borders to the east..."

 

A sharp selfish pang twists his gut because there are apparently many, many things Yunho would like to do, so he releases the beast and conscientiously folds the cloth in his lap, done.

 

"Nah," the beast grins, clumsily combing through Yunho's wet hair and looking very satisfied with itself, "you gotta finish." It points its chin toward the washcloth. "All of me."

 

 

*

 

 

"And you," Yunho murmurs in the middle of the night, obviously not entirely awake, voice echoing softly on the opposite side of the cave.

 

Inconvenienced, Changmin scoots his fur roll closer... to hear Yunho better. "What about me."

 

"If you were mortal," Yunho yawns. "What would you do."

 

Changmin frowns. "I'd..."

 

Yeah.

 

Changmin doesn't know.

 

Because fur trading is okay. It's what his father does. It's what his grandfather does. It's what everyone does.

 

What else is there.

 

"So many things," Yunho answers sleepily as though he knows, and adds a hopeful, "so, can you kill me tomorrow or what."

 

"Yeah, yeah," Changmin smiles into his covers, "tomorrow."

 

 

*

 

"Today?" Yunho greets cheerfully on the fourth morning, batting playfully at the beast's disheveled head.

 

"No."

 

*

 

 

On the fifth morning, Changmin wakes up alone.

 

The oil lamps are burning atop the workbench and the drying racks, and there's a butchered assortment of fruit by his head, but there is no Yunho.

 

That's fine, Changmin thinks, gut churning, because maybe the idiot finally figured out there's no such thing as a fucking mountain deity and went home.

 

Which is so totally fine.

 

Changmin's spent the last ten Decembers here alone. He was born alone and he'll die alone and in the meantime he can _live_ alone and—

 

"Found berries," Yunho greets brightly, arms laden with what definitely aren't edible berries, robes soaked with morning frost. "Probably not poisonous, right."

  
"NEVER LEAVE WITHOUT TELLING ME."

 

"...do I get to die today," Yunho asks but his voice sounds oddly amused.

 

"...come here," Changmin commands without meaning to, bristling, and watches Yunho warily unload the poisonberries to their dumb little table then lumber closer and so the moment he's near enough, Changmin kicks out a leg and drops Yunho to the stack of furs next to him and shamelessly wraps himself around him.

 

"What—" Yunho starts, stiff and awkward.

 

"It's your duty to keep the mountain god warm," Changmin sulks and swings a leg over Yunho, gathering him closer, hands pawing at Yunho's cold back, rubbing in rough uneven circles until Yunho doesn't feel like an icicle anymore, transfers his sleep-heat to all of Yunho, stupid trespasser Yunho with his stupid soft hair that smells like snow and mouth that looks like a spilled sunset.

 

Unmoving, Yunho murmurs, "Yeah."

 

 

*

 

 

The beast is...

 

Petty.

 

"You're clean," he tells it authoritatively, ignoring the strategically-placed bowl and washcloth next to its bared backside. "Sort of."

 

The beast huffs, "Are you questioning the mountain god."

 

A little bit, yeah, Yunho thinks, because he's already given the beast a cursory bath an hour ago. Immediate guilt and discomfort arise because as tribute, Yunho's been trained and conditioned to be meek and respectful and unquestioning so he needs to be meek and respectful and unquestioning and he's been none of those things.

 

Instead, he's been turned on.

 

The mountain god was supposed to be female.

 

It was supposed to have breasts and lady bits in its human form; parts Yunho knows what to do with. It was supposed to consume Yunho in every way, and the elders said—emphatically, in fact—that it would have to find him compatible sexually. And of course, there's probably a real possibility the beast will soon morph into a new, less... flat avatar, but.

 

Yunho really likes this one.

 

It's an endearing, arrogant mess, weirdly in need of protection and attention and it makes Yunho want to touch.

 

"It's not gonna wash itself," the beast whines, offering its bare back with a wiggle, gesturing with its chin over its shoulder, looking eager, hunched over a tiny wooden stool they assembled together.

 

Habitually, Yunho grabs the washcloth, "If I do this, you'll—"

 

"Sure, sure," the beast waves him off, leaning on its knees and curving its back expectantly, "lots of death and destruction, I promise."

 

 

*

 

 

"Not done," Changmin says.

 

Sighing, Yunho wets the rag again and smoothes it down Changmin's back and look, yeah, Changmin's a bit of a misanthrope but he's not an actual soulless demon—he'd never needlessly exploit a situation and a man— _a man_ —but Yunho's right: cleanliness _is_ important.

 

Yunho runs a hand down Changmin's spine, drops of water trickling into Changmin's underwear, steadfastly ignoring the curve of Changmin's ass with every swipe, and it's not that Changmin wants Yunho's hands on him constantly, but it's nice to occasionally add some soap to his routine, even if it's this inconvenient and gross.

 

"Wash my hair," Changmin hears himself say, smile stuck on his lips.

 

"Why," Yunho argues, but runs a free hand up and tenderly tangles it in Changmin's hair, then twists roughly and dips him backwards, tiny wooden stool buckling beneath him. Changmin goes sprawling across the wet ground, cold moisture seeping through his underwear, ass smarting from impact.

 

"Sorry," Yunho apologizes with a blinding smile and looks anything but apologetic as he dunks the back of Changmin's head into the soapy bowl.

 

Water sploshes into Changmin's ears and he struggles, limbs flailing, heart racing, but then Yunho's hands anchor on each side of his skull, fingers sliding to cradle the back of his neck, and Changmin forgets to breathe.

 

"If death and destruction aren't on your schedule today," Yunho says conversationally, lathering Changmin's hair, "can we go pick up some better-quality kindling."

 

"Why," Changmin complains, eyes shutting in satisfaction despite the icy ground stabbing at his tailbone, muscles relaxing.

 

"I want to finish my drawing," Yunho says.

 

"Your what."

 

"I drew that," Yunho gestures with his chin, pointing at the dark wall behind him. "For you."

 

Changmin cranes his neck, one eye shut and burning with soap, noticing a charcoal mess stretching across a decently-sized chunk of the cave, barely visible black on gray. "Why would you draw me a table."

 

"It's a picture of my village," Yunho pouts, "I'm leaving behind a historical record."

 

"So," Changmin snorts, catching Yunho's wrist for balance, "you can't draw. Did you study _that_ for twenty years, too?"

 

"No..." Yunho says humbly, entirely too adorable for this world, "that's more of an inborn talent..."

 

Changmin muffles an unmanly giggle.

 

 

*

 

 

"It's a sheep."

 

Resigned, Yunho sighs, shoulders slumping, fingers dusted with charcoal. "It's a butterfly."

 

The beast cocks its head, unconvinced.

 

It's sitting by Yunho, cross-legged and staring at the wall with interest, curly mop of hair still wet, barely clothed, fire already crackling despite the early hour. Absentmindedly, it bites into a pear, finger outstretched toward a corner of the wall, "Is that your house."

 

"That's my father..." Yunho manages.

 

"...please never draw me."

 

"That's you," Yunho points proudly.

 

The beast gapes for a moment, teeth embedded in the pear, then hastily smears the charcoal with a large offended palm. "No, it isn't."

 

 

*

 

 

In the middle of the night, Changmin wakes up, unsettled.

 

It's dark, but there's definite movement by his head, so instinctively, he reaches out and grabs at the shadow.

 

It's Yunho's ankle.

 

"Sorry," Yunho mumbles, sleepy and warm, "needed water. I was thirsty."

 

Yeah, so is Changmin, so he tugs until Yunho stumbles, sinking to Changmin's furs.

 

Half-asleep, Changmin shucks the covers and wraps around Yunho like a vise, exhaling into his neck.

 

 

*

 

 

On the sixth morning, Yunho wakes up late.

 

Something's persistently poking at his head, rousing him from an unprecedented sleep coma.

 

"This isn't productive," the beast lectures, waving a hand in front of Yunho's face, but Yunho is so sleepy and warm and he should get up and light the oil lamps but they seem to be lit already and the beast is lying next to Yunho under a pile of soft pliant pelts and so Yunho rolls over.

 

"No," the beast whines, pressing to Yunho's shoulder blade to complain, and shakes his arm, "stop sleeping."

 

Yawning, Yunho kicks his legs back, tangling their feet together.

 

"You're the worst tribute in the history of tributes," the beast murmurs and sounds pleased.

 

 

*

 

 

The problem with not having the cave to himself is that Changmin can't touch himself as he pleases.

 

And it's become a serious health issue because Yunho is still sleeping, the length of his body stretched out on the furs next to Changmin, back turned, hair spilling down his nape, and none of that is attractive but Changmin's body doesn't care.

 

It woke up early—totally not so it could spend more time with some dude—and now it demands release.

 

Well, fuck it.

 

It's Changmin's cave and he can do whatever he wants and if Yunho doesn't like it, he can leave.

 

Feeling justified, Changmin commends himself then carefully shifts to his back, drawing his knees up. The covers bunch up with the movement, pulling on Yunho's side, revealing sun-kissed shoulders. A sharp thrill chases down Changmin's belly, pooling low.

 

With shaking fingers, he palms himself through his underwear, eyes focused on the ceiling.

 

 

*

 

 

Yunho's weirdly on edge.

 

He's seven days past his projected death date and five days from the deadline and if he stops to think too much, the situation becomes bizarre and surreal, because instead of feeling like a martyr, Yunho feels like a sinner.

 

Instead of kowtowing to the beast, Yunho babies it. Instead of abstaining from basic luxuries, Yunho eats and bathes and draws masterpieces at will. Instead of torture and a slow descent into madness, there's only a weird organic partnership and an accidental, gradual slide into domesticity.

 

Instead of meeting his end at the beast's hands, Yunho is _living_ with it.

 

But the worst part—the part Yunho cannot forgive—is that Yunho's fingers are greedy.

 

"More," the beast moans, arching its back.

 

Yunho cards his fingers through its wet hair, soap-slick and thick, and adjusts his crouch, shifting his weight to one hip.

 

The least he can do is not touch himself so he can meet a clean death.

 

But it's really just impossibly hard.

 

Possibly because his body is not godly or sacred and selfishly wants to cram a lifetime of pleasures into his remaining five days or possibly because the beast is lazing comfortably in Yunho's arms, enjoying its nth, completely unnecessary, bath, eyes shut, wide chapped mouth set in a blissful grin, water dripping down its neck—

  
Yunho wants to drop the thing and excuse himself and just shove his hands to his crotch and it's the strangest, most foreign feeling; a sense of irrational urgency tempered by a strong unfamiliar need for—

 

The beast readjusts, off balance, and cracks its neck with a groan. Its right arm brushes Yunho's thigh and Yunho makes a tiny breathless noise.

 

The beast's eyes snap open.

 

Yunho's fingers pause.

 

There's an awkward silence and then the beast murmurs, "Did they teach you how to satisfy someone like me."

 

"I'd have to improvise," Yunho murmurs back and regrets it immediately.

 

 

 

*

 

 

Changmin's going to snap.

 

He's going to snap and not be himself and he's heard stories of weird old hermits going insane from solitude but Changmin is not alone—Changmin's stuck with thick warm thighs and a soft silky voice and dark knowing eyes with their unnecessary number of eyelashes.

 

Changmin's trapped.

 

He's trapped with a suicidal, stupidly attractive disciple of some backward sunfire village, and instead of bailing, he wants to fuck him raw.

 

He's running out of _why nots_ , because suddenly, _it's wrong_ and _he thinks he has_ _to_ hold no deterrence, replaced by an uncharacteristically entitled _it's fine_ and _they gave him to me_.

 

"...are you telling me to improvise," Yunho asks ruefully, resuming the bath.

 

Changmin means to open his mouth and say _sorry_ and _yes_ , but he finds himself sitting up and pushing Yunho away, water stinging his eyes, slowing his mouth.

 

"I see," Yunho says but probably doesn't.

 

 

*

 

 

Here's the thing.

 

It's not that Yunho particularly wants to be taken by anyone, least of all a man, but the... village... honor... and the winter harvest...

 

It's his duty and purpose and he's made peace with not owning his body entirely and yeah, the supplies sent up to the mountains with Yunho include essential oils meant for a woman, but a man can't possibly be too different... there's not...

 

Yunho groans.

 

He's here to give, not take.

 

But he wants to take.

 

"Draft," the beast warns gruffly, recovering from its nap, bed-hair unreasonable, snug in Yunho's old robes.

 

Standing by the mouth of the cave, Yunho sniffles and bites into a pear, ignoring it.

 

One of the spotted bunnies frolicking in the fresh snow outside hops over the threshold, tail twitching happily.

 

Yunho drops into a crouch to greet it and fake-whispers, "Shoo, before it eats you."

 

The bunny lopes off into the snow, ears flapping.

 

Grinning, Yunho makes to rise, pear between his teeth so he can push off of his knees with both hands, but when he stands upright, the beast stalks toward him, feral, deliberate, quiet.

 

It pauses before Yunho, then removes the pear in silence and tears into Yunho's robes, not meeting his eyes.

 

"Today?" Yunho asks, shaken.

 

"Today," the beast agrees and parts Yunho's legs, shoves a knee between them, and pushes Yunho deeper into the cave.

 

And though the beast has made it categorically obvious it finds Yunho unacceptable, it still disrobes him methodically, and if Yunho's going to die today, he's going to die sated and without regrets, so he grips the beast's wrists and brings his mouth to its lips.

 

Startled, the beast opens up, and typically, Yunho has near-perfect control of his body.

 

Just not around—

 

"Changmin," he tries, testing the name.

 

The beast—Changmin—makes a breathless grateful noise and clumsily covers Yunho's mouth, biting and licking like it's been a hundred years since he's done this, curls his fingers into Yunho's forearms and presses Yunho's back into the charcoal-dusted wall.

 

Yunho half-expects a transformation—a great messy contortion of muscles and breaking of bones—but Changmin's hands remain human and needy and so it's Yunho who feels like the monster about to devour the beast.

 

"I'm going to improvise, too," Changmin promises, wraps his fingers around Yunho's cock, and tugs.

 

 

*

 

 

"Can't anymore."

 

Changmin grins into Yunho's spine, forehead resting between the dip of his shoulder blades, sweaty and hot.

 

He adjusts his hands under Yunho's soft flat belly, hooks his fingers around Yunho's cock, and grinds against his ass, driving Yunho into the furs, stuck on, " _No_."

 

Exhausted, Yunho shifts, trying to shake him off, but only succeeds in letting Changmin wedge himself between his sticky thighs.

 

Changmin hates cuddling, would never cuddle, but he came twice, once in Yunho's hand, once before Yunho even touched him, and so he can't actually move, but, "One more time." He withdraws his hands from Yunho's still-hard cock and pushes up to his elbows, straining above Yunho's broad back.

 

"Not how I thought I'd die," Yunho concedes, burying the side of his face into the furs, jaw slack, mouth open in pleasure.

 

Spent, Changmin grins, skin sparking the instant he drapes himself over Yunho again, cock twitching appreciatively.

 

The cave smells like them, thick with the scent of sex and sweat, heavy with the smell of salt and come, and Changmin nudges at Yunho's ass.

 

Yunho tenses.

 

"Can I," Changmin says.

 

"Well," Yunho reasons, "my village..."

 

"Your dedication," Changmin grumbles, partly offended, mostly jealous, "is too much—"

 

"Yeah," Yunho says into the furs, "it's terrible to have something you'd die for."

 

Changmin has something to live for.

  
So he squeezes Yunho's cheeks with intent, Yunho's dumb supplies just out of reach, unused and laid out by the softly glowing oil lamps, and reaches for an urn.

 

"Can I," he asks again but his fingers are already slicked up and working Yunho open.

 

 

*

 

 

Well.

 

This is an unreasonable amount of fucking, Yunho thinks dazedly, even for a starved mountain god, and spreads his legs wider, completely wrecked.

 

Changmin rolls his hips, driving deeper, and Yunho watches his face shimmer with sweat, sparse scattering of birthmarks sliding into view with every thrust.

 

Yunho feels boneless, done, burning inside and out, years of resigned conformity unraveling with each rough stroke, a solid ever-expanding need growing to consume him, urging him to flip Changmin into the furs, pin him down, and shove into him instead, but the soft wet sounds of penetration are distracting, and so is the fat too-wide length of Changmin's cock slamming into Yunho—

 

"This part of me," he apologizes senselessly, death grip on Changmin's forearms loosening so he can claw at his ass, rhythm sloppy, "is stupid."

 

"All of you is stupid," Changmin moans hoarsely, touching his forehead to Yunho's shoulder, hips slowing to a stop.

 

A throb of white-hot pleasure sparks on a slow wet drag, curling Yunho's toes.

 

"Which," Changmin manages to amend, lifting his head to stare, flushed, panting, mouth parting in a silent shuddering breath, "which part of you."

 

Yunho tries to say _my heart_ because his heart has given up, has yielded and split, gone where it's always been forbidden, and it wants to take and keep things, wants to stay and be kept—

  
Changmin pushes at Yunho's knees, flattens them to the furs, stretching Yunho impossibly wide, angles his hips up, and buries himself to the hilt with a sharp proprietary slide so all Yunho can say instead is _oh_.

 

 

*

 

 

Changmin is sore and chafed and giddy when something startles him awake.

 

It's still dark out, the soft glow of the lamps waning, and Yunho's straddling him, hair dripping wet and falling around his jaw, chest flushed from the cold.

 

"Where," he asks gently, looking mortified, cock curving up toward his belly, hands on each side of Changmin's head, "where can I touch you."

 

Changmin shivers, ruined.

 

"Anywhere," he offers cockily but his voice cracks an embarrassing amount.

 

 

*

 

 

So... dying seems like a distant reality.

 

There are things Yunho should be concerned about, like, yeah, the dying, and also the eventual probability of having to share Changmin with a new tribute a hundred years from now—Yunho scowls briefly, annoyed—and he should wonder whether his village is doing well, but all Yunho can think about as he scrubs his soiled robes in the stream, sunshine above him, snow below, is Changmin.

 

"What happened."

 

Startled, Yunho looks up.

 

The village elder is approaching beyond the stream, looking disappointed and sounding disapproving, jangly staff dragging a line in the snow. "Yunho, what did you do."

 

With a confused frown, Yunho rises respectfully, fingers numb.

 

"It's snowing in the village," the elder accuses loudly, drawing to a stop on the other side of the stream. "The harvest is ruined, the winds damaged the western section—"

 

"What," Yunho asks stupidly because what.

 

"I came to reclaim your remains," the elder explains furiously, "because I thought the beast was not pleased with you, but you're _alive_."

 

Yunho feels an instant conditioned urge to apologize but he's... done... his...

 

"There's only one explanation," the elder scowls, leveling his staff.

 

 

*

 

 

Changmin can't stop grinning.

 

Not because of anything in particular, of course, 'cause life is still total mundane bullshit, and he's not emotional or anything, and it's not like his head's full of plans and ideas and dreams for the future, about finding better-quality wood for Yunho's stupid charcoal, about stitching him some fucking suitable winter attire, about putting his mouth on Yunho's mouth over and over again.

 

But when Yunho comes back from his regular self-destructive morning polar dip—which is presumably where he's disappeared to while Changmin slept off his sex coma—adorably denying his hypothermia and giving Changmin gross affectionate glances, Changmin's definitely going to sit him down and properly explain about the whole not dying part.

 

And about how Changmin's village—though not all imbecilic and sunshiny like Yunho's village—is tolerably welcoming of newcomers and chock-full of women of marriageable age—no, scratch that last part, Yunho's not going to be allowed near women. Or men. Or anyone.

 

...perhaps the cave could be modified to live in year-round...

 

Surely, no one would steal Yunho's attention here, nor compete for Yunho's affections, nor impede upon Changmin's Yunho-time—

 

"Hello."

 

Alert, Changmin shifts under the furs and pokes his head out.

 

A familiar-looking old man is standing at the entrance, eyeing the low table and its lack of snacks.

 

Oh, Changmin thinks and hastily sits up, weirdly flustered, gathering whatever clothing item is nearest, _that guy_.

 

"Sorry," the old man says, very informally, "gonna need to take these back."

 

He starts stacking the empty wooden bowls and that's... fine, but...

 

Confused, worry surfacing, Changmin slips into Yunho's old robes and sheepishly goes to help, wondering, "Why are you back."

 

"Well," the old man says flippantly, "there was a slight miscalculation."

 

Changmin stops.

 

"Apparently," the old man says, stuffing the bowls under one arm and judging the charcoal painting behind Changmin with a critical eye, "we were wrong about the location of the cave."

 

"What."

 

"I'm pretty sure I sent him to the right place this time," the old man offers helpfully.

 

"WHAT."

 

"Brute the Obstructor, the First of Its Name, Guardian of Winter," the old man drones, cutting himself off, "is on the other side of the mountain."

 

"THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS—" Changmin hollers furiously and yanks his boots on, panicked, upset, nonsensical, "plus, you gave him to _me_."

 

"...well... we gave him to the mountain god..."

 

"Well," Changmin growls and mindlessly rushes out, "the mountain god can't have him."

 

 

*

 

 

Yep.

 

This is more like the pictures Yunho pored over as a child.

 

" _YOU ARE EIGHT DAYS LATE_ ," the beast booms, shaking icicles from the ceiling, thick silver horns curling around its hairy spiked ears.

 

"I got lost," Yunho says but this beast doesn't seem to find him nearly as charming.

 

The temperature drops to a dangerous low, forcing Yunho to inhale deeply, lungs constricting with pain. The frigid breeze splits his skin open around his wrists but this is okay. It's okay. This is what was supposed to happen from the start. Yunho has no regrets. Yunho doesn't—

 

"This isn't right," he tells the beast.

 

The beast blinks its six lashless eyes, calming down. " _WHAT_."

 

"My village owes you nothing," Yunho says because he's an idiot. " _I_ owe you nothing."

 

"... _NO_..." the beast rumbles, big round belly shaking, "... _I'M PRETTY SURE THAT'S NOT_..."

 

"Even though I owe you nothing," Yunho says, "if you take my life, it has to be the last one you take."

 

The beast flounders, then taps one foot to the ground.

 

"... _OKAY_..."

 

 

*

 

 

"THERE IS NOT," Changmin roars, climbing the steep snowy precipice, sharp wind whipping about his head, slashing at his cheeks.

 

"There _is_ ," the old man argues from the bottom of the bluff, unable or unwilling to keep up, "there is definitely a mountain god and Yunho knows in his heart what he must—"

 

"No," Changmin barks furiously, more to himself, "that part of him is stupid so how DARE you manipulate—" his boot slips on ice, nails clawing at a protruding rock for purchase. "Fuck."

 

"He has to die!" the old man yells after him, fading into the sudden snowstorm, so Changmin shouts back into the white abyss, "YOU GAVE HIM TO ME," because nothing else makes sense.

 

He's pretty sure the only real threat to Yunho's life is frostbite, or shacking up with some other, less scrupulous, fur trader camped out for the winter, but there's a real sense of pure panic overwhelming Changmin's internal gauges.

 

His muscles are achy and his bones are tired and he should be at home, making fun of Yunho's stupid art or wrapping his mouth around him or shooing wildlife Yunho's dragged in, but his heart thumps to a hollow worried _not right not right_ , so Changmin climbs like a lunatic, on nothing but instinct, blinded by the snow.

 

 

 

*

 

 

" _DO YOU WANT TO DIE TODAY OR_..."

 

"Today," Yunho says, skin dry and cracking open in spots, lungs struggling.

 

The beast shifts in its ice-covered throne, four of its arms gesturing awkwardly at the barren center of the cave where Yunho is standing.

 

" _I'M A LITTLE RUSTY, SO_..." it says and the wind picks up, loosening Yunho's ponytail.

 

Yunho's pretty sure he can taste blood but that's what he deserves for fucking up.

 

Not that Changmin was a fuckup.

 

Changmin was probably the only thing Yunho did right—

 

"Holy shit."

 

Yunho snaps his head to the entrance.

 

"It's real," Changmin breathes out, pale skin littered with scratches, barely dressed, hair windswept.

 

" _ARE YOU MY APOLOGY_... _?_ " the beast asks, baffled.

 

"I'm..." Changmin starts, gaze finally landing on Yunho, eyes softening with visible relief, "...your tribute."

 

Bone-deep panic jumpstarts Yunho's legs into surging across the cave to growl out, "He is _not_. I am."

 

"I'm the tribute," Changmin argues spitefully, brows knitting, gait determined, aiming for Yunho.

 

Yunho meets him in the middle and envelops him in a big stupid hug. "Shut up."

 

"... _UH_..."

 

"This is bullshit," Changmin tells Yunho, curling his fingers in Yunho's robes with a desperate angry huff, then stubbornly addresses the beast, clamping a hand over Yunho's mouth, "I take over as tribute instead of him."

 

The beast squirms, seeming preoccupied.

 

" _SO... YOU WOULD DIE FOR HIM...?_ " it asks haltingly, uncomprehending.

 

Furious, Yunho bites at Changmin's palm and tries to pry him off, but Changmin keeps his hand pressed to Yunho's mouth, looking annoyed with himself and mumbling, "Yeah. Yeah, fine, I would. I'd die for him."

 

Which means Changmin's just as big of an idiot as Yunho and Yunho won't stand for that, so he wrenches the hand off, volunteering, "NO. I'd—"

 

" _I CAN'T DO THIS_ ," the beast snarls, annoyed, belly shaking, its straw-like braids swinging, " _I ALREADY PROMISED TO TAKE MY LAST TRIBUTE TODAY AND YOU'RE PUTTING ME IN A DIFFICULT SITUATION_."

 

Changmin's hand presses back to Yunho's face, shielding his cheek, eyes trained on the beast. "Well... you could always just not take a life, I mean, that's an option."

 

The beast seems to consider.

 

And as much as Yunho appreciates the gesture, this isn't Changmin's battle. Changmin should get to live a long disgustingly happy life, filled with...

 

Fuck.

  
Filled with Yunho.

 

"Brute the Obstructor, the First of Its Name, Guardian of Winter," Yunho begins, burning with determination, fists clenched, pressed to Changmin's left side.

 

"... _BRUNA_..." the beast corrects, embarrassed.

 

Yunho pauses. "Can you perhaps spare everyone this Christmas."

 

"... _CAN I_..." the beast interjects with a dejected noise, " _CAN I AT LEAST TAKE A LIMB OR SOMETHING_..."

 

Suddenly, Changmin cracks up.

 

He just doubles over, eyes adorably mismatched, and gasps for breath, pawing at Yunho's hip and side and shoulder.

 

Stunned, Yunho digs his fingers into Changmin's neck with worry. "Changmin—"

 

"It's fine," Changmin grins, eyes bright, "I'll be the rabbit."

 

"The rabbit—?"

 

"Take mine," Changmin says over Yunho, looking equal parts amused and disbelieving, and brings his eyes to Yunho's.

 

Yunho hides Changmin behind him with a protective scowl.

 

"No," he tells the beast, proffering his arms. "Take mine."

 

" _JUST_ ," the beast booms, exasperated, " _LEAVE AND NEVER RETURN_."

 

 

*

 

 

"Your village is too cold for me," Yunho says casually, helping Changmin down a slippery rock, robes torn, cheeks bleeding.

 

"Yeah, well," Changmin retaliates, not letting go once he's hopped down, "yours is too hot for me."

 

"Your village," Yunho shrugs, trying to shake Changmin's hand off, "drives you away every Christmas."

 

"Yours tried to _sacrifice_ you," Changmin points out, firmly twining his fingers with Yunho's.

 

The breeze subsides.

 

"Well," Yunho says and raises his eyebrows, at an impasse.

 

Changmin meets his eyes with a nod. "There's only one solution to this."

 

 

*

 

 

"Why do we need a boat."

 

"...that's a shed."

 

"Yunho, do you know what a shed looks like," Changmin asks with concern, pressed next to Yunho on the bench, heads bent together over an unfolded parchment scroll clutched between their hands, gently-sloped meadow sprawling toward the horizon.

 

"It's a shed," Yunho insists, knocking his knee against Changmin's, "look, that's the roof."

 

Changmin squints, sunshine freckling his sun-kissed cheeks, then leans his chin on Yunho's shoulder with a sulky huff. "I thought that was a horse."

 

Yunho shifts slightly to glance down, mouth twitching.

 

"No," he says, pointing at the center of the scroll. " _That's_ a horse."

 

"...amazing," Changmin concludes, breath warm on Yunho's collarbone. "You're broken."

 

"Well," Yunho agrees, pressing his mouth to the top of Changmin's warm head, "wanna try fixing me."

 

With a fond impatient grin, Changmin clips Yunho's bangs up and hands him a shovel and that's basically how Yunho and Changmin build a village.


End file.
